Moonspear Rush in, we have to rally and win boys

The idea that somehow, his own worth would never be enough, had slipped into Gannet's mindset, and it mulled there, a ghost whispering as he went about his usual duties. The anxiety this produced had slimmed him some; he was eating, but not as regularly as perhaps he should be, and he moved with an uncharacteristic listlessness.

Perhaps it was only a slump he'd get out of, but if so, he saw no reason to now, because nothing was really speaking against that intrusive voice that spoke down. It was as though his mind were finally beginning to take in a lifetime of experiences, and just now sort through... every friendship, and each departure.

He'd always been a logical and methodical thinker, and so as he dithered, his mind dwell on ways to be somehow better. Was he happy? Or did he need to change? If so, how? Why?

His mind was a mess slowly putting to order as he loped along the mountain's southern ridges, down and scouting for any sign of prey.

Hydra bounded toward him, her tail waving like a proud banner behind her. Her eyes were bright and full of vigor; she was always eager to see her friend, and typically he was always glad to see her, too. His funk had not been missed, and she was no good with dealing with emotion—Hydra did feel, however, she might have some good news for him that may boost his emotions some. 

She playfully nipped at his hocks upon arrival, not really attempting to land anything at all, only get his full attention. What do you think of no longer being an Omega? she inquired after a beat, stepping alongside him, her eyes seeking any semblance of a positive reaction from his features.

He had a hard time thinking a plan of action - how could he do better than he was? He felt this was his best, but what did Charon want if he wished for more? Maybe he should have asked that when he had had the alpha's ear, but now he was left to sort it out himself. There were things he couldn't change; his family. And there were things he didn't think to change - his softness being one. On some level he knew he was soft by their standards, but he didn't know how to be any way else.

It was a conundrum, so it was a very distracted Gannet who Hydra surprised with her rush. He skidded to a stop as she approached, and while his tail did wag, it did so with some less gusto. He had lingering feelings about his encounter with Screech, a meeting he had decided he wanted to tell her about. But she opened instead by hitting his other distraction square on the head.

Oh. His ears flattened back, and he looked down. For some reason, her declaration made it worse... he didn't want to disappoint her, especially if she'd expected him to be ready now. "I asked," he confessed, feeling a renewed sting thinking about the conversation. "He said not yet. I'm not enough." Not in those exact words, but close enough. Gannet didn't meet her eye, keeping his eyes downcast instead. He had wondered if she agreed, then... he wouldn't hold it against her if she did.

Hydra felt the sadness ooze off of him, and when he spoke, she understood why. Hydra blinked in surprise at his words, and was unable to swallow the words: what? how?? And she shifted her weight. Perhaps her father simply wanted to be the one to decide when and why, but Gannet had been doing enough. He may just be busy with the kids and unable to see what I see. I'll talk to him, she said with a firm nod. You are enough. You've proven you're here to stay, and my siblings know you just as much as they know me, which was saying something. He had kept with Moonspear even despite the opportunity given to him to leave, to boot, though perhaps she had not told her father about that day... well, she would let him know every reason why Gannet was enough. 

I think his mind is really just on them right now. When Galaxy was younger, she informed with a sad smile, when she was still alive, she fell through a fissure of Moonspear's. She disappeared for about of month. We found her by a bear, who would not leave her—we had to kill the thing, she said with a shake of her head. When possible, they avoided bears. But they couldn't have done so that day. So right now his attention is really for them and them alone. I'll admit the same—all I ever do right now is patrol to make sure no one gets too close, and that we have no trespassers, she spoke and she shrugged, looking over her shoulder. She softened as she looked back to him. She knew he worked hard because sometimes in passing she saw him there, too.

Hydra was quick to jump to his side, and he did feel some gratitude in that. But he couldn't take enough heart from it not to be bothered, and if anything, it only made the anger worse. She was his friend.

"He doesn't trust me," he said, and finally his gaze rose to meet hers. "Neither do you." Suddenly, the words came, something they almost never did for him. For once he knew exactly what he needed to say. "I saw Titmouse. Why didn't you let him go? He was gone. He didn't come back." She'd hunted him and taken his eye, even knowing Gannet thought he was innocent. That bothered him deeply, and his look when he stared at her held more accusation than any he'd ever worn.

Hydra blinked at his words, more than a little bewildered. Yes, we do, she responded immediately, without missing a beat. Do you think if he didn't, if I didn't, you would be able to even look at the cubs? That I would be your friend? She scoffed. Hydra would never befriend anyone she did not trust; 'friends close, enemies closer' was something Hydra did not abide by. 

His inquiries shocked and stilled her tongue, though only because they were unexpected to her. She had not heard that name in many moons and would have been happy to never hear of it again. His sudden vitriol toward her made sense, and a lot of things occurred to Hydra at once—but none of these thoughts led her to think she had ever been wrong about Gannet. 

I did let him go, she said, slowly. He did come back. Not here—but too close, too soon. Gannet, I wanted to kill him, she explained, but he is your brother, and you believe he is somehow innocent, despite the damning evidence, despite her own knowing. He did not listen to reason, so perhaps he would to force. I needed him away, far away, for him to stay alive. Do you know what else I did, to make sure that happened, against my better judgment? She asked, I told him to stay away from the Caldera. Because if my father caught wind of him there, he would do it, and if your sister did not give him up, he would have wanted war. Hydra bristled. I saw Galaxy die, and I watched him flee from her still warm body without a sound. What innocent would run before they called for help? Her ears pricked forward, and she looked at Gannet, demanding an answer, demanding that he help her understand his own logic here, because for the life of her Hydra, in all the time that had passed, could not make sense of it even still.

She trusted him in some ways, but not others. And while she explained, he wasn't mollified. It still made more sense for him to panic and run than for his brother to kill a stranger in cold blood, on their own border no less. But that wasn't the argument... their views on that would always differ. It was her attack now that he did not like, and the payment she'd withdrawn from his brother for 'coming too near.'

"You should've let him go home," he said, ignoring her biting questions because he had no better answers than he'd already given her time over. He had been ok with everything because he had assumed their problems with his family ended at their borders... but no. That had been proven false. "I would have." If it had been her sister, he would have believed her, at least enough to not seek retribution. He couldn't quite feel grateful for her not killing him, not when Titmouse hadn't shown any sign of seeking out the Moonspear again as far as Gannet could tell. Instead, it seemed to him she'd assumed he would stand beside her choices, no matter what. But like Charon had said.... they weren't family. And if he wasn't family, then he didn't need to be ok with this. She was his friend, but it felt lately like he had a very different view of that from those on the mountain, and this frustrated him.

Hydra shifted her weight as he spoke, and she waited for him to finish before she responded again herself. Her not letting him go home was for his life, and more than that, for the friendships she had forged with the Redhawks independent of pack alliance. I am a leader, Gannet—I thought of more than just his life when I told him not to go there, she reiterated, blinking slowly at him. And if it were your defenseless sibling who had died in similar circumstances, I would not judge you for what you did. I understand he is your family, and so you will defend him, and I do not begrudge you that. She admitted this freely. Though she thought Gannet to be blinder than the one-eyed Titmouse for his misplaced loyalty to a monster, family was as important to her as it was to him. Except for that bastard, Hydra liked the Redhawks. 

Hydra did not expect him to agree with her at every turn, but she also did not expect this utter lack of understanding. Then again... he had not seen it from her eyes. He might never understand. And truly, she did not need or want for him to. This was her friend, and it hurt her to see him look at her as he did. One day, Gannet, she began, you might know your brother to be the monster that I saw that day. But know that I do not wish that. She had wished those wounds were fatal. But somehow, the guilty lived while the innocent survived. Life was cruel. The way he looked at her hurt, too, but she did not feel wrong or guilty for her actions. No, losing his eye was the least Titmouse could do for his actions. He deserved far more than just that. 

Hydra was not a pacifist and did not seek to mollify or make right what she had done. There was only one way she could have, and that would be ridding the world of Titmouse when she had an opportunity to. Rannoch, Liffey, Gannet, and those that sought to defend him would carry the burden of the havoc he wrought unto the wilds. For them, he still lived and breathed.

She was a leader, yes... but not there. And her threats shouldn't have been directed there, no matter what her intentions. It was Towhee's decision if Screech went home, not Hydra's, and he didn't take kindly to the fact that she'd leveled threats against his previous home. Even if she hadn't intended it that way.

"Because I would have listened to you," he said, quietly. She wouldn't have judged because there would have been no need to. Her need to be right in this had lost Screech an eye, and had brought to Gannet's fore that he would always come second, even to her family that was months dead and buried. None of them saw him as an equal, and nothing he did would change that. He had a hard time believing she would fight if her father saw fit to keep him low... and he didn't care.

Rank wasn't what he wanted. He just wanted to belong.

He'd thought bringing it forward would make him feel better, but it only made him feel worse. Hydra was his only friend here, and if he didn't have her, then what did he have? He almost caved then, and apologized for even bringing it up, but he couldn't. He wasn't wrong to be upset. He knew he wasn't wrong.

Hydra bristled at his words.

How could you know what you would do? She asked him, her eyes flashing and her tone sharp. Taking a breath, she said in earnest and with a slow shake of her head, I am sorry I disappoint you, Gannet, but I would never try to control you. No. Hydra had always given him choices, and had always been fair—she would never ask him to do something that would bring him discomfort or unhappiness. It was why when Towhee had come, she had offered him to go with her if that was what he wanted. Hydra did not shirk or hide from her actions, and never would. Of course in this, he would have been second when all was new and raw; but she put him first when she saw him again, and did not bring his life to an end then and there. 

She had defended Gannet before and would defend him again—and his emotions meant much to her. Hydra put those she loved before her own pride, and though she yearned to walk away from this and him she would not. Hydra was insulted by this grievance he carried that had forced her to grow older than she was far faster than she ought to of. 

Time has passed since then. He left a scar upon us all, and she had returned the favor. but if he returned, so long as it was nowhere near here, I would have nothing to say to him anymore. Nothing to do. I care more for you than I do for the death I wish upon him, her tail wagged feebly behind her, and her ears flattened atop her crown some. It was no apology—she would never apologize, as it would be a lie, and she was not a liar—but it was an acknowledgment of just how much Gannet meant to her.

He knew because he'd been there... but he didn't say this. Peter was a long time ago, so long that Gannet couldn't even remember his appearance. Hydra was obviously upset, and they'd gotten on a track previously discussed, one Gannet hadn't even meant to really dredge up again. He felt worse than when he'd begun, especially when she spoke next. Because hearing it, explicitly said, was so nice that immediate guilt pressed down for making her say it. I care more for you.

He wilted, tucking his head down. He didn't apologize... he couldn't for being honest too. But he did struggle for more words, ones that would maybe explain why he was upset. Because it wasn't her fault, not totally, and he wanted her to know what it was.

"My family's gone. I wanted this to be it. But I don't know if it can be." No, that wasn't right. "You are. But only you. They... I don't think they want me." Jarilo was a friend, maybe, and the pups. But puppies weren't for sharing things like this with, and the dismissal and casual disdain Gannet had sensed from the other members of her family had been slowly chipping away at his optimism since he arrived. He just hadn't realized it until the dam broke, and now he had to figure out what to do with the flooding.

He felt tolerated. It was perhaps all in his head, but it was a feeling all the same.

Hydra's tail lashed as she tried to process how he felt. She could not understand this, his insecurity, having never felt it herself a day in her life. Hydra had always felt wanted, had always felt a purpose. She grew angry with the fact that she might not have been as perceptive as she ought to have been to things such as his feeling unwelcome—his conversation with her father might have only added fuel to this, after all.

My father, she began, is more wary now than he has ever been of those he permits himself to grow close to. I think since Rannoch brought so many away with him, a lot of us are; but I knew you long before all of that. Others had not, her head dipped low. They want you—they are afraid to admit it, show it, she knew it because she had this same fear with others she perceived as outsiders. Hydra would not allow it even for herself, but Gannet she had known before this all transpired, too; he was one of the few that would ever know her this way, for her mistrust was deep in others since she had been jaded. You chip away at that wall each day you are here. Each day you are with the cubs. Each day you mark the border. I know you cannot see it, and you cannot feel it, she continued, but I do. And I know someday it will be better, she breathed.

She did not want to present him with the choice to leave now; she did not want him to go. But all of this might be too much work, more than it was worth for him. The idea wounded her, but if this was the case she would rather know it now than to know later, when the wound would be more than simply deep but be a mortal wound to her desire to be familiar with anyone who did not wear the name Ostrega. Perhaps her father did not consider Gannet family, but Hydra did—but one woman could hardly be enough, could they? I do not want you to be unhappy, he was important to her, as it stood. I do not want you to leave, but I do not want you to be unhappy, she elaborated again, her voice strained. It was difficult to look at him and say this, but Hydra must know, must hear it.

Was chipping away enough for him? He didn't know. She was here; Whip was here. Eventually, the pups would grow, and maybe then.... but even then. Would their parents and siblings turn them against him? And would Whip stay, when he found out how low outsiders were here?

If he left, they wouldn't be friends anymore. He figured he knew that one hundred percent to be true, because he knew Hydra. So for him, here, there wasn't really a choice to be happy. He could stay, continuing to live in a pack that saw him as a thrall, and try to at least get to know Whip again, and remain friends with Hydra. Or he could find a new home, one that would likely be friendlier... or would it?

When had he ever really been treated more like family since his parents died? Maybe with Liffey. But she and Rannoch had left, and he hadn't been invited to join them. Likely there he would be less wanted.

"I don't want to leave," he said, quietly, the summation of the storm that had just rolled through his thoughts. "I don't... know what I want." He sat down, his ears falling flat. "Sorry." There was a level of defeat to his tone, but it was an honest apology. He felt badly now, bothering her with his problems when he didn't even know clearly what they were. Or how to fix them. She couldn't force her family to accept him any more than he could; he was just tired of waiting.